


Nothing Can Last Forever, Not Even You

by ashangel101010



Series: Coping Mechanisms [1]
Category: Winx Club
Genre: F/M, Gen, One-Shot, Talking, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Sibylla's Cave" episode. In a moral garden of red spider lilies and white heaths, there is a moth and a butterfly. One flies away. One rots away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Can Last Forever, Not Even You

Nothing Can Last Forever, Not Even You

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- Silence by Lucia

*

            It was wrong, it was all so very wrong. He shouldn’t be laying there, coated in sweat with a sickish white tainting his skin. He shouldn’t be so god damn still like he was a corpse in a wooden coffin. His golden eyes shouldn’t be closed for this long. He shouldn’t be moaning in pain. He shouldn’t need to have his hand held by someone he loves more than a brother. He shouldn’t be so fucking sick in the first place! They are immortals! They are powerful! They are survivors! So how come Anagan is still denying to change the present to the past? They lost their power, but not powers. They lost to the Winx Club almost every time they fight them, but now they were abusing those naïve Fairies’ trust. They might win this in the end, but Duman may not live through it. He might die in this cave like some sickly wolf pup. What will happen after win? There is no way they could bring Duman back without sacrificing his soul. He’ll be nothing more than some living husk, which is a price of their dark magic. Would Gantlos be able to live with never hearing snide remarks or heated jibes from the shape-shifter? Ogron has already left the cave, saying that he is taking a walk in the woods that is still within Sibylla’s territory. Anagan saw the disguised fury in Ogron’s chilled, blue eyes. He wonders what unfortunate creature will cross Ogron’s path.

“I’m going to the gardens.” Anagan announced tersely. Gantlos takes no notice and continues to grasp Duman’s limp hand. For almost a second, he thought Gantlos might kiss Duman’s hand. Like always, Gantlos never makes that move.

Outside of Sibylla’s cave, there is a small garden with a stone bench. The garden is not the usual assortment of tulips or violets that one would expect of a straight-laced Fairy like Sibylla. Instead, there is an assortment of red spider lilies and white heaths. Red spider lilies are typically associated with funerals and Hell in some cultures, while the heaths represent solitude. Anagan is not lost on the twisted irony of this garden. Especially when the sun is out and shining down on the garden like some holy beacon. If he had enough foresight, he would’ve realized that Nature is giving him a sign. He isn’t zipping through the garden like he thought he would, but chooses to take a seat on the bench and stare at the flowers. Running around reminds him what Duman can’t do or may never do again. He closes his eyes to quell the despair forming in his head. If the Winx don’t get Morgana on their side, Ogron’s plan may take longer to work. More time means less chances of saving Duman. Nature, I could use a distraction. He thought a drink might help, but gets someone else instead.

“You seem much older than before.” Anagan’s eyes slowly open at the sound of Flora’s voice. He doesn’t quite appreciate the age comment, but he has been emotionally stressed lately. Somehow, Ogron looks younger than he ever was. Maybe he feasts on Duman’s suffering like a vampire, Anagan thinks with a bit of poison and cheek. Thankfully, Flora is wearing her pink dress without any accessories save for a pair of earrings. If she came in her safari outfit, or heaven forbid with cat ears, he might have chewed her out.

“Without my daily dose of Fairy wings, I age a year.” He teases darkly. Flora makes a move like she would take a step back, but doesn’t because of his grin. She can’t quite place if the grin is impudent or a façade.

“I thought the secret of your youth was fattening up lost children and eating them.” What a morbid sense of humor from this innocent Nature Fairy. Anagan’s widens like a predator toying with its prey.

“No, that is just Earth superstition regarding Witches. Really, I’m just…..powerless.” He wasn’t just referring to his weakened magical abilities as Flora figured.

“It’s about Duman. You’re helpless to watch your friend slip away.” Anagan winces at Flora’s merciless bluntness. It was like trying to pull an arrow out of your ass after being hunted down by Amazon Fairies.

“If you’re here to cheer me up, it’s going to take a while so have a seat.” Flora gently steps through the garden of ominous flowers like a ballerina through snow. She takes a seat next to him, but dislikes how their shoulders touch. Unfortunately, the bench was designed for two people of the close nature.

“What kind of flowers are these? I know these must be one of the many flowers slowly reserved for Earth.” She stares intently at the white heaths like something about them reminds her of home.

“The red ones are spider lilies and the white ones are heaths. Why are you staring so hard at the heaths? They aren’t as impressive looking as the spider lilies and moths are the only ones that enjoy those flowers. I thought you liked butterflies.” Butterflies draw nectar from red spider lilies, while moths devour heaths. Basically, the beauty of insects vs. the wretch of insects.

“I love butterflies. The white of these heaths remind me of funerals. On Linphea, the color white is associated with funerals.” Anagan finds some dark humor in Flora’s words. White normally represents innocence, rebirth, and light. If they mean death in Linphea, he wonders what black would represent there. A moth lands on the white heath that Flora was staring at. Its wings are dull and in tatters like a dress of rags from a wicked stepmother.

“Strange, white is considered a positive color. Does that mean Linphean brides wear black on their wedding days?” He can imagine spitefully Flora wearing black if she marries Helia.

“No, brides wear pinks, greens, or yellows. I’m planning to wear a pink and green bridal gown when I get married.” She doesn’t add “Helia” to the sentence, which allows Anagan to mull over the possibility of seducing her. Yet, he is reminded of the inevitable betrayal that will occur in the future. There isn’t much time to court her into his (maybe in the forest) bed. She appears wispy but her roots are entrenched deeply in the ground. She won’t buy his cheap promises like most women do.

“By ‘planning’ does that mean you’re not getting married once the Earth Fairies come to their senses?” She might not even get a chance to get married or even get off this planet. If she and her ‘Specialist’ get in the way, they might die or be sealed in the Black Circle. Anagan thought without a shred of remorse for either victim. The moth’s wings begin to twitch weakly.

“I’m pretty certain that some other evil will pop up and we’ll have to defeat them. The Trix are probably hiding and waiting for some villain that would them his minions. Then, we’ll have to fight them again. It’s a never-ending cycle of mediocrity.” At “mediocrity”, Anagan is reminded of the day they first came to Gardenia. It was a pathetic city for the last Earth Fairy to hide in, but it’s shocking that the city also hid the Dragon’s Flame and the lost Princess of Domino. The city must be specially cultivated by Nature’s machinations.

“Were we a pleasant break from those power-hungry, lazy harpies?” They were pathetic, the Trix that is. Those Witches got expelled from Cloud Tower and were able to steal the Dragon’s Flame for a bit. Honestly, that was perhaps their most impressive part of their villainous careers. Of course, they got defeated by the then rookie and always lucky Winx Club. The Trix then became a joke, which anyone with a lick of true evil would acknowledge, and were only “powerful” when commanded by some Bloom-hungry or spell-hungry Wizard. True power comes from knowledge and foraging bonds of which that the Wizards of the Black Circle have over the generic villain of the year with the Trix in tow.

“You were so challenging! Even after we got our new transformation, you kept on trying to defeat us. You almost had us if not for the belief of the Earth people. I almost thought you were going to win, but it’s a good thing you decided to change your ways. Make amends with the Fairies you have wronged.” He almost scoffed at the last part because of how insulting her ignorance was. She has no idea what Earth Fairies have done to us. She has only seen good Fairies up until now. The thought keeps Anagan from glaring at her. Instead, he shifts his gaze to the moth. The moth is incredibly still now.

“Flora, do you have any siblings?” Distractions are nice, reminders of the past are fleeting, but facing the present is challenging. Anagan wants a challenge.

“Yes, a little sister. She will only be two years away from entering Linphean College. I haven’t seen her since arriving to Earth.” With her quiet nature, Anagan knew that she must have sibling. He just wanted to hear her answer. She seems close enough to her sister to at least remember her age. The moth’s wings begin to beat like it is about to take off.

“Soon, you’ll be reunited with your sister. It must be nice to have someone waiting for you and a home.” Right now, Anagan is envious of Flora’s position. Her sister is fine and not withering away like a sunflower. She probably has a nice home carved into a tree or maybe in some sort of flower hut. Her parents are most likely alive and also waiting for her. They are probably just one small, happy family. He used to have parents and a home, but that was when he was child. Now, all he has left are his “brothers” and a place to sleep and hide from the Fairies of Vengeance.

“Yes, but it will only be for a little bit before I would have to return to Alfea. The girls and I would have to resume being assistant teachers at some point.” How the Hell are you going to manage that while being in some girl (not empowering in the least) band AND run a pet store? Anagan almost asked. He can’t help but feel like these group of Fairies are trying to create their own melodrama and conflicts. His pride is wounded further by the fact that they were almost defeated by these girls and their semi-useless boyfriends. The moth hovers above the heath like it is about to fly away.

“I wish you luck, but aren’t you supposed to get a certificate and a degree to be allowed to teach?” Anagan knows that each Realm has different forms of government, magic, people, culture, and education, but sophisticated Realms like Magix do require at least a certificate to teach. Clearly, the Winx Club had enough “influence” to pull some strings to avoid that process. Or maybe Alfea has lowered their standards, it would explain why that even in their Believix form the girls are poorly educated in magic. He feels like their yearly power-ups are what is hindering the Winx Club to the point that the girls are hemorrhaging whatever inkling of magic that they learned at their school. He hopes (if Flora actually lives through this) that Flora would break off from the Winx Club and explore magical Realms.

“We’re just assistant teachers only teaching one class at Alfea. It’s Winxology, I doubt there’s a university that offers a degree in that!” It comes off as a joke, but Anagan finds no humor. He isn’t going to even try to fake a smile for he knows that she will see through it. If Ogron listened to her reasoning for being allowed to teach, he would have promptly ripped her wings off without blinking. He really, really, really hopes that Flora will do something else. Something that would open her eyes, or at least not involve another clichéd transformation. The moth is having trouble maintaining its altitude.

“You do realize that you only get an uncertain amount of time in the world. Don’t you want to see other Realms and meet people much different from your current company? There are gardens much bigger than this and much prettier too.” Flora tilts her head upwards to the sky like she is thinking about flying away from him. The sun’s beams add to the warmth radiating from tree-blood eyes and doe-brown skin. Her hair shines like a newly-anointed Nymph. She is beautiful, but unattainable and toxic. There would be nothing but pain if Anagan pursued her now, but that does not mean he cannot beguile her.

“The way you said ‘pretty’ makes it sound hollow. You don’t really find any beauty in gardens that don’t last forever, do you?” She sounds hurt like every woman that he has ever left behind and almost forgotten. She isn’t going to live forever unless Nature deems otherwise. He knows that quite well and he hates being left behind in the dust of those who passed on. Those who will never be by his side. Those who he can cherish and curse. Those who will grow old and perish. The moth plummets to the ground.

“I am immortal. My brothers are immortal. We’re not the only immortals on this planet, but they aren’t like us. It is fine to have something new to toy with until it breaks down. Unfortunately, humans, the ones we loved or enjoyed, can never stick around because in the end they weren’t built to last. We have suffered and done unspeakable horrors to ensure that we would never have to part from each other ever again.” Until now, his mind supplied. Duman is dying, something so simple and incomprehensible at the same time. Is this how it’s all going to end for Duman? To die in some Fairy’s cave without ever tasting their final triumph? Nature always makes everyone pay, no matter how good, how justifiable, or how evil you are. They thought they stopped Death, but now it’s coming for Duman.

“Nothing can last forever, not even you.” She sounds wise, ancient, and maternal. His dark eyes are glowing red with pain, but she perceives it as anger. Silences ensues between the pair much like the dead moth under the white heath. A butterfly with black and white wings comes to rest on a red spider lily.

“I was hoping that by talking with you that my depression will go away. It seems that you have just needled it.” His voice hurts. Right now, he wouldn’t mind going back to that depressing cave. He hopes that she won’t apologize. He hates apologies.

“I am sorry. In truth, I came here with the intention if I can help you in this difficult period. My temper got the better of me, and you are a bit of an ass.” He chuckles at her passive-aggressive apology. The butterfly collects the flower’s nectar without any attention to the moth’s corpse.

“You are not the first Nature Fairy to say that to me, but you are the last.” He has missed another sign from Nature, and this time in his own words. The conversation is drawing to an end. They both can sense that, but do not know that this will be the last civil exchange that they will ever have with one another.

“I must go or else Stella is going to give the wrong medicine to the pets. I do hope Duman gets better.” She is the first and last woman to actually want Duman to get better. Women aren’t affectionate or nice to the golden-eyed shape-shifter because of his repulsion of the opposite sex and fierce bite. She goes away, and he doesn’t bother to wave at her. He feels drained of vitality and optimism. He doesn’t know if he can run anymore if the plan fails. He gets up and leaves the garden to find Ogron. He needs to make Ogron didn’t do anything to jeopardize the plans like killing some Rustic Fairy in a blind rage. The butterfly flies away, while the moth rots away.

*


End file.
